Here, With You
by xKainexx
Summary: England finds himself bedridden on yet another Fourth of July week. He's resigned himself to sleeping the days away for the next week when America shows up at his house in the middle of the night. But why is he here? Fail Summary. Rated T for mildly coarse language. Couple: America/England
1. July 1st

**Hello~. I wrote this for the Fourth of July, or Independence Day, or whatever you want to call it. America's birthday. My second Fourth of July story, actually. This will probably have four chapters at least (starting from July 1st and going to the Fourth of July). It's in England's POV, and rest assured, I don't think I made this as angsty as my other one. I'm trying not to.**

**Connected to this story is a Canada Day fic, _Finding Happiness_, staring Russia and Canada.**

**Title may be changed.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia.**

**Couple(s): America/England**

**Warnings: Uh... Possible OOC-ness?**

**Enjoy~. **

* * *

The Fourth or July, the day of America's independence. The people celebrated with fireworks and steaks and hot dogs, huddling around bonfires on beaches with friends. America always invited the other nations to his house and had them celebrate and party with him. So it was fun and games for all… except one.

For England, the Fourth of July _sucked ass._ For the record, it wasn't because it was the very day that his former colony had declared independence, nor was it because the nation himself was an obnoxious, junk-food loving idiot. No, he hated it for a rather simple reason. It made him ill.

And no, it wasn't a "lightly coughing" sick, it was a "on the verge of death, unable to move out of bed, hacking up a lung, barely able to breathe" sick. And worse yet? It lasted for a week. A whole _fucking_ week.

So here he was, on a warm and sunny Monday morning, birds chirping and the wind creating a light breeze, in bed with a fever. England was seized by yet another fit of coughing, forcing him to sit up and try to expel the phlegm in his throat. When it died down, he took deep gulps of air in through his mouth and let it out slowly, slumping back against the pillows. How bleeding wonderful this day was turning out to be. It was a day fit for roaming the streets of London and maybe spending time watering his garden, but instead he was doomed to stay in bed for the whole day, and then some.

He groaned, a scowl on his face from how shitty he felt at the moment. His head felt heavy and clogged, his throat was irritated from the incessant coughing, and his chest felt like someone had dumped a load of bricks on it. Not to mention that he felt both hot and cold, so he continuously kicked off the covers and pulled them back up.

One the nightstand beside his bed, his phone vibrated. Reaching over and picking it up, England stared irritably at the caller ID. Grumbling, he put the phone to his ear and bit out, "What do you want, frog?"

His eye twitched when he heard the Frenchman let out a laugh. "Ohohohon~. Angleterre, that's no way to greet someone. I only called to check up on you."

"It's too damn early to hear your sodding voice, Frenchy." He growled out, expression darkening as his irritation spiked up.

"I take it that you're ill, then?" The smirk in his voice was apparent, and it only served to infuriate him further.

Without bothering to reply, he clicked off and tossed his phone to the floor on the opposite side of the room. He tried to calm down, but his mind wouldn't allow it. All England could think about right now was putting a curse on the frog to make him as miserable as he felt right now. But he hadn't the strength to do so at the moment, so he slid down under the covers and closed his eyes, hoping to sleep away his fever. It wouldn't work, but at least he wouldn't be awake to bear through it.

He was on the verge of sleep when his phone vibrated again, and he grit his teeth. _If it's France again…_ he trailed off, pushing the covers away and trailing over to where his phone sat on the carpet. Without bothering to look at who it was, he answered it, coughing. "Hello?"

"Hello England…" came a quiet answer.

He furrowed his brows, wondering who was calling. Maybe it was a wrong number. "Uh, who is this?"

"This is Canada."

"Oh, hello Canada. I'm sorry, I didn't look at the caller ID before answering." He apologized, just now recognizing the voice of America's quiet brother.

"No, it's okay…" The words were barely audible.

Wondering why he was calling, he asked, "So what did you need?"

It was unusual for the Canadian to call him, or rather, he couldn't pinpoint the last time they actually spoke to one another. He muffled another cough with his sleeve and held back a hiss of irritation. He wanted this week over and done with already.

Canada paused, and then made a strange request. "Um, I was wondering if you'd like to spend the day with me… if you have the time."

Pursing his lips, England thought about the invitation. He didn't hate Canada, and he had no reason to because he never bothered England. However, he doubted that it was a good idea to go anywhere, much less on a plane, when he was this sick.

"I'm sorry Canada, but I'm a bit, eh—… well, I'm a bit under the weather at the moment."

"Is it because of America?"

The question came unexpected to England. He went silent, thinking about the loud-mouthed nation. He'd experienced so much grief and pain at the hands of his former colony. Thinking about America made his chest clench painfully, filling him with emotions he wouldn't dare name. He was past this… already, he'd forgiven the brat when he realized that all he wanted to do was be equals (which had been hard to get the American to admit, until he deployed a certain tactic he called "getting America plastered"). Still, England couldn't get rid of the emotions that took hold of him when he thought about America.

Realizing he'd been silent for too long, England began speaking in a sheepish voice. "Yes." He answered with a forced chuckle. "I can never get rid of the bloody fever that comes about at this time of year."

"Do you still think about it, then? The Revolution, that is."

He raised a brow at Canada's sudden candor. Both he and his brother usually beat around the bush with topics such as this. Well, it was a good thing, anyhow. He answered the question honestly, knowing that Canada wasn't one to gossip. "Well, of course I do. It's a lot of history. But I'm accepting it, and him. It doesn't help with the fever, though, or the nostalgia." _That's for bloody sure…_ "Anyways, I'm sorry again, Canada."

"Oh, it's all right. You should get some rest."

"I will. I'll talk to you later." He felt like there was something else he should say, but whatever it was, he didn't know.

"Bye."

Canada hung up, and England took the phone from his ear and sighed. After another coughing fit, he headed down to the kitchen to get a glass of water. He hadn't eaten since last night, but he knew he wouldn't be able to stomach food right now, so he settled for water and made himself some tea. When he had the two drinks, he collapsed down on the couch and took a sip of the delicious tea, reveling in the feel of the warm liquid running down his throat and soothing its irritation.

Turning the television on, he flipped it to a film channel and settled down to watch what appeared to be a romance film. While he wasn't one to waste away an entire day sitting and watching television, there wasn't much else to do until his fever passed.

_This is going to be a long week,_ he thought morosely.

* * *

England woke up with his head resting on the arm of the couch, his empty tea cup teetering in his hand. The sky outside was dark, and the only light in the room came from the T.V. as some random film played. Groggily, he lifted himself up into a sitting position and set the cup down on the coffee table, rubbing at his eyes and trying not to fall asleep again. He felt no better than he had when he sat down however many hours ago. He gave out a dry couch and groaned.

Looking at the clock on the wall, he squinted, trying to make out the time. It was just past midnight. "One day over…" he muttered wearily, "and six more to go."

Picking up the glass of water and the teacup, England slowly made his way to the kitchen and set them in the sink. He turned, intent on heading back up to his bedroom, but loud knocks on his door stopped him in his tracks. _Who the hell is at the door at this time of night?_

Only one person came to mind. He glowered, walking to the door and cracking it open. Standing at his door, shivering and tugging his jacket closer to him, was just the person he expected, America. Opening the door at the wall, England glared at him, trying unsuccessfully to keep his tired irritation out of his voice while asking, "What are you doing here, America?"

"Just wanted to drop by and say hi, y'know?" America laughed, but went silent when England looked at him with a deadpan expression.

"After midnight?"

So far, he was keeping his composure, but he didn't know how long he could keep back the coughing. If there had been any lights on, the flushed color of his face would have been a dead give-away of his fever, but luckily there was only the light from the T.V.

"Aww, c'mon Iggy, please let me in. It's cold out here!" America complained, rubbing his arms for emphasis.

England rolled his eyes, wanting to slam the door in his face, and yet knowing at the same time that he couldn't do that.

"Fine." He muttered, forcing back a cough.

"Sweet! Thanks, dude!" Pushing his way past England, America hurried into the house.

Shaking his head, the Englishman shut the door and sat down on the couch, arms crossed over his chest and one foot tapping impatiently on the floor. "Now tell me, why are you here?"

America turned his attention from the movie (which seemed to be another romance, if the couple kissing on the screen was anything to go by) and took a seat next to him. Face illuminated by the T.V., America's smile fell and he flopped back against the couch.

"I went to Mattie's house earlier, 'cause I wanted to ask for his help in preparing for my birthday… and you wouldn't believe who was there!" Without allowing England to ask who it was, he continued, his voice filled with disbelief. "_Russia_ was there! And Mattie was _sitting _in his _lap!_ And after I punched the Commie bastard, Mattie punched both of us! I mean, what the fuck was that? He said he'd explain at my party, but it's hard to think about that when I keep seeing the image of them sitting so _intimate _together in my head!" He shuddered, grimacing in disgust.

"You flew all the way across the Atlantic just to vent about that?" Somehow, that sounded more absurd than Russia and Canada being together. The idea was creepy, yes, but for America to forsake sleeping in favor of visiting him? That was just ridiculous.

America rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "Well, no. I was going to fly over here tomorrow and drag your ass back to my house so you wouldn't skip the party, but since I needed to vent, I came over a bit sooner."

For a moment, England just stared at America, face blank. Then, he sighed. Resting his head back against the couch, he closed his eyes and said, "If you don't mind, I would like to sleep, so go home."

"But Iggy~!" the American whined. "We're past the whole Revolutionary War thing, so you should celebrate my birthday with me!"

He snorted. "I have better things to do with my time." _Like lie in bed all day._

"I doubt it!" America laughed obnoxiously. "C'mon, please!"

Lifting his head up, England once again set his eyes on the blond. "No," he snapped, suddenly irritated, "I'm not wasting my time with your ridiculous celebration. I'll let you stay here for the night, but tomorrow, _go home._"

America deflated, and he opened his mouth to respond when, without warning, England was taken by a series of wet, disgusting coughs. The force of it was hurting his throat and chest. They stopped for a second and he was able to take in a shallow breath before they started again. He felt his shirt slide up and a cool hand pressed against his heated skin, rubbing gentle circles again his back.

Slowly, the coughs died down and he was able to relax, gulping in air. He settled down with his elbows on his knees, trying to get his breathing under control. The hand on his back kept massaging circles on his back, and when England glanced over at America, he saw the younger nation looking at him with a concerned expression.

"Damn, Iggy. You should've told me you were sick." He said, stopping the movements of his hand and taking it from his back.

England tugged his shirt back down and stood up, waiting until he felt positive that his legs would support him and then walking to the kitchen, America following. "Would it make a difference?"

"I could nurse you back to health!" he exclaimed, flashing a grin at England.

"Sure you could." The Englishman retorted sarcastically, setting a kettle down on the stove and picking out the tea leaves.

He grabbed the pitcher of water and began pouring it when a wave of dizziness swept over him. He stumbled back, the pitcher spilling water onto the floor. He slipped on the water, but before he could fall, a pair of arms steadied him. England blinked, trying to regain his bearings as America led him over to a chair and took the pitcher from his hand. "Let me do this."

For once, he didn't protest; he simply didn't have the energy to. Watching America wipe up the spill with a towel and then fill the kettle with water, he raised a brow. "Do you even know how to make tea?"

America grinned confidently, "Yup! I've watched you do it a lot, so it should be pretty easy."

"Whatever…" the Englishman muttered, no longer caring. It wasn't as if America was going to blow up the kitchen.

The blond hummed happily as he went about making the tea, and England watched him silently. Why was he doing this? It wasn't like America to take care of others. Usually, he'd laugh and offer him a hamburger and then go off. To see this side of him was… odd. Odd, but pleasant.

He was dozing off in his seat when the kettle started whistling, and the next thing he knew, there was a cup of hot tea being placed in his hands. Shaking off his lethargy, he looked down at the liquid suspiciously. It was the right color, and the milk was also mixed in. England took a tentative sip of the tea, and grimaced at the taste. "This is terrible." He frowned up at the blond, who shrugged.

"Hey, it's my first time making tea." He pouted, then placed a hand on England's forehead. "Whoa, you're burning up!" America frowned. "Where is your thermometer?"

England gestured with a shoulder, "In the bathroom."

"Mmkay."

America disappeared into the bathroom, and England took another sip of the tea. The taste wasn't up to par, but nevertheless, it was soothing to his throat. By the time America reemerged from the bathroom, the cup in his hand was empty.

Taking the cup from his hands and setting it on the counter, America ordered him to open his mouth, and he set the thermometer under his tongue. For the next twenty seconds, and awkward silence spread between the pair. It was finally broken when the thermometer beeped, and America took it from his mouth.

"39.8… what's that?" America looked to him in confusion.

He tried to do the mental math, looking up in thought. "About… 103 or 104 degrees in Fahrenheit." He muttered, more to himself than to the American.

"Holy shit!" Suddenly, America pulled him out of his seat and began dragging him up the stairs to his bedroom. "You need to get to bed!"

When they reached his bedroom, America forced England to lie down in bed and rushed to the bathroom. He heard the faucet turn on and then off, and America came back with a damp towel in hand and set it on England's forehead. He tried to sit up and speak, but he was pushed back down.

"Iggy, just rest." He said softly.

"America…" England murmured, trying to form a thought, but found it to be too much effort.

A hand took hold of his, and the Englishman let out a breath, feeling himself be lulled into slumber by his lethargy and the presence of the blond. On the verge of sleeping, he thought he heard America speak, but he could be sure.

"Good night, England."

* * *

**Too. Much. Dialogue! I look at this, and all I see is a mass of dialogue. Ugh.**

**I hope you enjoyed it so far!**

**This is a belated upload, because this chapter should've been uploaded yesterday, but oh well. I'll be working on chapters two and three (July 2nd and 3rd) tomorrow. :)**

**Reviews are love and help cure the disease that is procrastination!**

**Thank you for reading!**

_**Edit 7/3: Thank you to both my lovely reviewers for pointing out the inaccuracy of the Celsius reading. Curse Google, curse it! 'Tis fixed now. ^^**_


	2. July 2nd

**Wow, really behind schedule now! Ugh. It's amazing how much deadlines get to you when you actually set one. Oh well, I'll manage.**

**Thank you to those who read, reviewed, followed, and favorited this story! It means a great deal to me. :)**

**This chapter might be kind of rushed, I'm not sure. The end definitely is, since I was scrambling to get this done before it turned over to a new day. x.x**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia.**

**Couple(s): America/England**

**Warnings: Possible OOC-ness.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Sunlight flooded into the room through the window, its rays landing upon the sleeping figure in bed. England turned his head away from the light, mouth set in a grimace. _Why does it have to be so bright in the morning_… He tried to shift over onto his side, but his movements were impeded by something gripping his hand tightly. With an annoyed huff, he cracked his eyes open and glanced over at his hand, finding another hand grasping his. His gaze trailed to the owner of the hand, and emerald eyes set upon a snoozing America, sitting in a chair, bent over with his head resting against the mattress. His other arm was creating a pillow for his head, and the younger nation snored gently in his sleep.

Sitting up wide awake, England tried to retract his hand, but America's grip only tightened, refusing to let go. With his free hand, he rubbed at his eyes and massaged his temples. First thing in the morning, and he had a headache to add on to his ailments. Perfect, just bloody perfect. However, through some miracle, England felt better than he did the day before; his skin wasn't as flushed and he was able to breathe more smoothly.

He muffled a string of coughs with his sleeve and then looked at America. It looked like he'd been there all night. There was a bowl of water with a towel draped on its edge sitting on the nightstand, and the blond's glasses were still on. Peering closely at his face, he thought that the brat might look a little bit cute, smiling with drool on his cheek, but he quickly pushed such thoughts away. He wasn't about to cross over into that territory just yet, and especially not in the morning.

"America." England nudged him on the shoulder, but the sleeping nation only grumbled and moved away from the touch.

Raising a brow and frowning, he tried again, and again America didn't wake. Huffing, he thought, wondering how to wake up the git. A devious smile formed on his lips, and he leaned close to the American, his lips almost touching the outer shell of his ear. In a breathy whisper, he cooed, "America," and then he gently blew into his ear.

Instantly, America jolted awake, and he snatched his hand back, flailing his arms as he fell back off the chair. England forced back his laughter and watched as the blond picked himself up off the ground, face beet red, and looked over at him with an offended expression. "W-w-what the hell was that?"

Unable to control his laughter anymore, England chortled, holding his stomach and saying, "Oh God! That was brilliant! You should see your face right now!"

His laughter soon turned to coughing, and his cheeks started hurting from the grin spread on his lips. Still, the cackling and coughing didn't recede, and it wasn't until America shot him a glare (that really wasn't effective at all, considering how red his face was) that he tried to regain control of it. When his fit of chuckling ended, England took in deep breaths and forced down the grin etched into his cheeks.

As if nothing had happened, he greeted, "Good morning, America."

For a moment, America said nothing and glared at him. Then, he sighed and asked, "How are ya feeling?"

"A tad better." He was still curious as to why. Usually at this time of the year, nothing could make his fever go down until the Fourth passed.

The blond smiled in relief, and the smile soon widened into a grin. "The hero was nursing you all night, of course!"

England rolled his eyes, but inwardly he was grateful. Looking down at himself, he realized that he'd slept in the same clothes two days in a row, and more than that, he hadn't showered since before yesterday. He sighed and slowly got out of the bed, feeling more stable on his feet than last night. "Get out."

"Eeeh?" America frowned, "Why?"

"I need to shower. So out… unless you're going to wash up with me?" England couldn't help but tease the blond, finding amusement in his reactions.

Just as he'd expected, America's face flushed to a scarlet red, and his eyes widened. "N-no!" he hurried took the bowl of water and rushed out of the bedroom. Before shutting the door, America mumbled, red all the way to his ears, "If you need help, just give a shout." And then he was gone, and the door was closed.

Sniggering at such an entertaining response, England headed to the bathroom and went about showering.

* * *

As England was heading to the kitchen, clean and clothed in casual attire, he noticed the smell of cooking. Curiously, he entered the kitchen, and found America standing at the stove, flipping pancakes. He set out two plates with three pancakes each, topped with a slice of butter and drizzled in syrup.

"Hey, Iggie!" America smiled when he noticed him watching. "Sit down and eat. They're sure to be delicious because they were made by me!"

"I'm surprised you didn't burn them all." England commented, sitting down in the seat beside America.

The other nation laughed. "Don't worry, my cooking is still better than yours!" Without letting England take offense at his words, he continued, "Mattie showed me how to make them." His face skewed up in a sickened expression, probably remembering whatever sight he'd seen at Canada's house.

England took a tentative bite of the pancakes, and discovered that he was famished. He hadn't eaten anything yesterday, so the meal before him now tasted incredible. He devoured the pancakes, eating at a pace that normally he would scold America for. Beside him, the blond snickered and England scowled at him before finishing off the meal.

"Hmph. My food tastes much better."

"You wish!" America cackled.

Glowering, England took his dishes to the sink and grabbed a glass of water, gulping it down. He turned back to America, "Isn't it time you leave?"

After swallowing the last bite of his pancakes, America grinned, "Sure. Only if you're leaving with me."

"Like hell I am," he snapped, making his way into the living and sitting down on the couch.

"Aw, c'mon Iggy! You said it yourself, you're feeling better, so you should come!" America followed after him, stubbornly refusing to accept "no" as an answer.

England stayed silent. He, too, wondered why he was so adamantly refusing to attend America's celebration. His grudges were long gone, and America's company wasn't terrible (he preferred it over being around France, that was for damned sure)… so why? He glanced up at the younger nation, who was staring down at him with a pout.

They locked gazes, and he felt himself being pulled into those sapphire pools. They were the same color as the sky on a sunny day, bright and full of life. It was one thing that'd never changed since America was a child. His eyes were always so beautiful, always portraying his emotions, even when they didn't show from his expression. Back then, it'd been another adorable trait that made him fawn over the child, but now, it was different.

Something about his gaze was different, and had been ever since the Revolution. The way America looked at him was different from the way he looked at others. It was as if he was trying desperately to hide something, yet at the same time, he couldn't. Those emotions, whatever they were, unsettled England, mostly because they were drawing him in. He felt that if it was drawn in too far, though, he'd end up drowning. And that was something he was scared of.

"Iggy? Hello~," America waved a hand in front of England's face, "Earth to Iggie."

Abruptly, he snapped out of his musings and averted his eyes from America's. Ah, yes, now he remembered. This was precisely the reason he didn't want to go over to America's house; the emotions that he'd developed for the blond frightened him. He was avoiding figuring out what exactly those emotions were. If he left himself in the dark, he could go about his days unchanged, and even banter with America. But as soon as they were brought to light, England wouldn't be able to do so anymore.

He sighed, "I'm not going, and that's final."

America regarded him with a brow raised, and then all of a sudden turned and headed up the stairs. Perplexed, England got up and trailed behind him to see what he was doing. Walking into the bedroom, he saw America take out a suitcase from his closet and he began stuffing it full of clothes. He zipped it up and rounded the bed to pick up his cell phone and wallet, handing them over to England before dragging him down the stairs.

"Oi, America, what the hell are you doing?"

Without glancing back at him, America muttered, "If you're not going to come over willingly, I'll _force_ you to come."

"Wha—? Let me go, idiot!" He barked, struggling to get out of the strong grip America had on his wrist.

"_No._" The force he put into the word silenced England at once. For once, he seemed dead serious, though England didn't have the slightest idea why.

They left his house and America called a taxi, but otherwise the two didn't speak. Riding along to the airport, England could feel the tension between them intensify until it was stifling, sitting so close together with such an oppressive air pressing down.

When they arrived at the airport, America got them both tickets and then they sat down to wait for their flight to arrive. It hard to speak with the atmosphere surrounding them, but England was getting irritated with America's uncharacteristic silence.

"Why do you want me to celebrate with you so badly?" he questioned, turning in his seat to face the blond.

America glanced at him, lips pulled down into a frown, and then looked back at the ground. "I…" he started quietly, "it would mean a lot to me to have you there. Like, I could be sure that we're good and all, y'know?" He pursed his lips and sighed. "Plus…" he trailed off, and after a moment's silence, it seemed that he wasn't going to continue.

"'Plus…' what?" England probed.

But the blond just shook his head. "No, nothing."

England didn't question him again, and they resumed sitting in silence.

* * *

It was late in the afternoon when England and America finally got off the plane. England was grateful for it; because of his fever, the flight over had made his nauseous, enough so that he'd been afraid that he might vomit.

As for America, his mood was considerably lighter, probably because he was back in his own country and they were currently heading to his house. England sighed, looking out the window of the taxi. Now that he was here, he wondered what he would do for the next day and a half. The Fourth was on Thursday, but it was only Tuesday at present. _Damn git_.

After arriving at America's house, England settled down on the couch, his fever spiking up again. He laid down with an arm shielding his eyes, listening to the shuffling of feet as America walked about doing who knows what. "What now, git?"

"Play video games!" America exclaimed happily, sitting near England's feet and turning on the T.V. "Tony bailed on me, left a note saying he'd be gone for a few days, so we have the games all to ourselves! Wanna play?"

England lifted his arm up and inch and glanced at the T.V. screen, now loading one of the younger nation's many horror games that he loved. Snorting, he let his arm fall back down. "No thank you."

"Suit yourself~." America paid no further attention to England, focusing on the game in front of him and whooping whenever he killed something.

It was hard to tell how long it was until he began dozing off, but gradually the fever won over and England was pulled into a deep slumber, America and the rest of his surroundings fading to black.

**::***::**

_England opened his eyes to find himself looking upon the very scene where he'd surrendered and allowed America his independence. _Not this again… _The rain poured down on the field, drenching him with its cold, icy needles. He watched with tired, pained eyes the moment that had haunted him for years, and even now invaded his dreams._

_The two figures stood in the field, a younger America and himself, both weary from battle. America stood, gun readied with soldiers at his back, while he stood alone, heaving heavy breaths as America shouted out to him. The words were muffled in this dream, but England already knew them by heart. They replayed in his mind, making him relive the pain of that day, the pain he was being forced to observe as a spectator._

_America's glare was fierce as he looked at him, and England saw his past self's hands clench his gun tightly. In the next instance, he was rushing it towards America, closing the distance between them, his gun readied. "I won't allow it!" The words were clear this time. The bayonet of his rifle collided with the America's, and with a jerked motion, he disarmed America, the rifle flying off to the side and falling to the muddy ground. _

_Standing there, weapon poised just inches from America's chest, he forced his hands to keep from shaking. England remembered. It was this moment that he realized something in America's eyes had changed… His past self shouted out, "This is why I say you don't follow things through to the end, you idiot!"_

_Behind America, the commander ordered for the men to ready their guns. He kept his gun raised, America's eyes trained on the weapon. And then… he slowly lowered his gun, looking at America with a brken expression. That expression, England knew all too well, so much that it hurt. America looked up in surprise, and he spoke with in pained voice. "There's no way I could shoot you, is there? You idiot!"_

_He let the gun fall down to the muddied field, sinking down to his knees. A trembling hand came up to his face, and his shoulders heaved as he cried. "Why?! Damn it! Why?!"_

"_England…"_

_England looked on at the scene, desperately trying to shut out the words he knew would come next. It was futile, and he heard them again._

"_You used to be so… great."_

_Shaking his head, England shut his eyes tightly, trying to will the scene away. He wanted it to disappear! Why, when he had finally accepted America… why did he have to see this again?! The torment never ended. He clenched his head between both hands, feeling tears stream down his cheeks. God damn it…_

"_Hey, Iggy!"_

…_What? Cracking his eyes open, England found himself sitting in his house on the couch, America sitting down next to him._

"_You always pick such sappy movies! Why not pick a horror movie?" Despite his words, America was attentively watching whatever film was playing on the T.V. screen._

_His eyes strayed to the T.V. where a couple were snogging, the mood seemingly light and easy as they laughed and teased each other with intimate touches._

"_Don't these movies… I don't know, make you wish you had a lover?" the comment was strange coming from America, who never said anything about romance. England sometimes wondered if he'd ever felt love before, or at least lust._

"_Haha, how 'bout you be my lover, Iggy? Teach me the ropes. France and Spain said that you were quite the playboy back in the day. Still can't imagine it!" he laughed, and England's eyes widened._

What the bleeding hell is he saying?_ When he glanced at America, he found the younger nation was no longer looking at the screen but was gazing directly at him, cheeks tinged with a light pink blush. Now this was starting to get very… odd._

_Without warning, America began leaning in closer to him, and England found that he couldn't move away. Glued to the spot, he was forced to watch as America closed his eyes, and then, he felt the gentlest of touches against his lips…_

**_::***::_**

The room came into focus as England's eyes snapped open, and he shot straight up, breath uneven and face flushed red. He blinked, unable to comprehend the images that were splayed out in his mind. "Wha—…" he trailed off, and then realized that America was nowhere to be seen.

The T.V. was turned off, and the room was dark as well. Did he go out? If he did, he could've at least woken him up to let him know. It might have saved him from having such a bizarre dream…

"Oh, you're awake!" Speak of the devil. The object of his dream stepped into the room, clothed in pajamas and looking ready for bed. "I was just about to wake you up. You've been out for a couple hours."

As America walked up to him, England found it hard to form words when he could still so clearly see his dream. He tried to regain his composure, but it was futile. Seeing America up close, his face heated even further, and he subconsciously scooted away.

"It's already past ten. Do you wanna sleep some more or watch horror movies?"

"Uh… eh… er…" England murmured unintelligibly, lowering his eyes to his lap. _Just stop thinking about it already!_

"What's wrong, Iggy?"

England yelped when he felt a hand press against his forehead. "You still have a fever… 's that you're actin' so weird?" American chuckled. "Well, you're always weird!"

"G-g-get away from me, idiot!" he stuttered out. Oh God, he couldn't even think straight right now.

America furrowed his brows, his expressive puzzled. "Maybe more sleep will get your head straight." He pulled England up by the hand and began leading him into the bedroom. "Okay~, get ready for bed and call me when you're done." When England didn't move, America frowned. "Dude, are you all right?"

"Absolutely fine. No problems here. None at all!"

"Well, okay then…" America's voice was unsure, but nonetheless, he left England to his own devices.

He sighed and hung his head. Damn that dream! Now he was stuck at America's house and he couldn't talk to the idiot normally. With his thoughts racing in multiple directions, all of them leading to America, he got ready for bed.

Later, after calling America in, the two settled down in the bed (apparently, America had watched a horror movie while he was asleep and didn't want to sleep alone… what else was new?). England kept as far to the edge as possible with his back to the blond. His whole body was rigid, muscles tight and heart pounding against his ribcage furiously. He listened to America's breathing, slow and even, and it only made him tenser. _Bloody git begs to sleep together and falls asleep so quickly._

It was hard to get to sleep again. His situation worsened when America turned over, their bodies centimeters away from each other and his arm draped across England's stomach. His breath hitched, and he didn't dare move a muscle. When it was obvious that America wasn't going to move, he tried to relax and closed his eyes, counting in his head in an attempt to sleep. It began working when he reached two hundred or so.

Slowly falling asleep, he felt America turn over again, and the arm left its place on his abdomen and their bodies no longer close together. England realized that he missed it…

…The warmth of having another person beside him.

* * *

**How was it? I really have no idea, but I hope you've enjoyed it so far.**

***sigh* So... sleepy. I'll edit it... after the scramble for the next two chapters is over...**

**Oh, and just a little tidbit about the end when they're sleeping together. I actually had this happen to me, and I kind of thought the same thing. Now I can't sleep without something against my back. Which is why I have a 19-inch panda. ****Anyways...**

**Reviews are love!**

**Thank you for reading! *passes out at laptop***


	3. July 3rd

**Thank you again, wonderful people who've read, reviewed, followed, and favorited! Don't have much time, so I'll just get to it!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia.**

**Couple(s): America/England**

**Warnings: Possible OOC-ness**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

The next day found England still ill, and ridiculously conscious of his American counterpart. He kept flinching and moving away every time America got close to him, even if it was for the simplest reasons such as handing him a (disgusting) burger from McDonald's. At first, America didn't say anything about it, probably thinking that it was just because of his fever, but as the morning turned to the afternoon, he was giving England curious looks whenever he put distance between himself and the America.

Now, England was accompanying America as he went to a multitude of stores in search of decorations for his party. He was amazed at how over patriotic America's people were. Above houses, America flags were hung up; stores were decorated with red, white, and blue; grocery markets were having sales just because it was their independence day tomorrow. This was his first time being here during the Fourth of July week, so he found it a bit overwhelming and unusual. In the end, it was just another trademark of the country. Overzealous personification, overzealous people.

It was around four in the afternoon when they relaxed and settled down on a park bench, watching some kids play with a football, sun shining down on them and a crisp breeze soothing its heat. England sighed and rolled his shoulders back, looking at America who was on the opposite end of the bench, devouring yet another hamburger. He had a small smile on his face, eyes trailing the movements of the kids running around.

"Looks fun, doesn't it?" America laughed, rolling up his trash and tossing it into a nearby bin.

England shrugged, holding back a cough, and took in a deep breath. "I've done more than enough running around in my time." He stated, thinking back to his childhood…

He felt America's gaze fall on him, and he looked the opposite direction to avoid eye contact. "You're acting really weird today, Iggie. And not just because you're sick or because you're you. Why won't you look me in the eye?"

There was no answer. If he gave the reason why, America would either laugh in his face or look disgusting, and though he loathed to admit it, he was more afraid of the second one. A hand on his chin forced his head up and to the side, facing America. He flushed at their close proximity as America inspected his face. He began to hear the rhythmic beat of his heart roaring in his ears, gaze unwillingly trained on the American, looking into those sky blue eyes that were regarding him carefully.

"Hey, why are you so red?"

"Uh…" he responded unintelligibly. _God damn it, snap out of it already!_

America brought his forehead against England's, and if he was flushed before, his face, from his nose to his ears, was _burning_ now. The images from his dream flashed in his mind, and he grit his teeth, becoming annoyed with how he couldn't even look at America without remembering it. If only he could get the damn image out of his head!

"Dude, you're burning up!" America pulled away, an alarmed expression on his face. His lips were moving again, and he was saying something, but England couldn't quite hear what it was. A concerned frown was settled on his face, sapphire eyes looking at him worriedly. It was an expression he didn't see often, and by God, it made him look too cute for words.

Heat rushing through his veins and urging him to do _something_, England leaned in and kissed America.

_What. The. Fuck? _He opened his eyes wide, and found that America's were just as wide, face blank with shock and not even trying to move out of the kiss. Both stayed frozen for a few seconds until England found himself thinking that, _damn_, this felt right.

America's lips were warm and soft, but chapped. Without realizing it, he closed his eyes and deepened the kiss, moving his lips against the frozen American's. It wasn't long before he was full out snogging the younger nation, hands cupping his face and pulling him closer. It was then that America's brain apparently clicked back on, for he put his hands on England's shoulder and pushed him away.

Staring at him with a mix of emotions in his eyes, America started. "Um… England?"

The understanding of what he'd just done finally sunk in, and England jumped up, face a scarlet red. "I… uh… have something to do!"

With that said, England turned around and walked quickly from the park, leaving America alone and confused on the park bench, and a couple of spectators looking on at the scene in curiosity.

* * *

England slammed the shot glass down on the counter, waving the bartender over for another refill. When the glass was filled with whiskey, he tipped his head back and knocked it back, then set it down on the table and used on arm for a pillow as he rested his head again the counter.

There were few people in the bar, the place having just opened an hour or two ago. Quiet guitar music played over speakers and the buzz of conversation drifted in and out of his ears. He was glad that he'd found such a good place; the last two he'd tried were less than welcoming, with bad service and awful whiskey.

His drunken mind thought back to the kiss with America which he'd been agonizing over for more than two hours. He'd gone to the bar to get piss drunk and forget about the whole ordeal, but instead he kept replaying it in his mind repeatedly like a broken record.

_Why the hell did I kiss him? _Just because he couldn't stop thinking about the dream and at that moment America had looked so adorable… ugh. He slammed his head down on the counter, earning him nervous looks from those around him. England wanted to rewind this week back to Monday so he could shoo America away and then none of this would've happened. It was astonishing how one simple little action or thought or dream could affect him like this. Normally they didn't. And he'd had much more explicit dreams before involving other nations (namely Spain, Japan, and, to his utter revulsion, France) but afterwards he'd never had the urge to kiss either of them. On the contrary, the thought of kissing them now made him want to hurl, even if he had done more than kissing with Spain in his pirating days.

A groan sounded in the back of his throat, and he waved the bartender over again. After downing another shot, he sighed heavily. Fuck, this day was just getting worse and worse…

Misery pressing down on him from his thoughts, he began drinking himself into oblivion and soon lost track of how many shots he'd had. All he knew was that everything looked a blur, and something was vibrating in his pocket that was starting to get really bleeding irritating.

"Stop vibratin'…" he commanded at his pocket. When it continued, he shouted, "Oi, I said stop it! Righ' bloody pocke'…" England put and hand in his pocket and took out the vibrating thing, which turned out to be his cellphone.

Squinting, he tried to read the screen, and when he couldn't, he tossed it down on the counter and turned away with a huff. The abandoned device continued vibrating, rattling against the wood. "Bloody tosser… why'd he hav'tah drag me over 'ere, an'ways… Jus' wanted teh stay home. 'Celebra'e with me' my arse… he dun' know a fuckin' thing."

The bartender walked over, tapping England on the shoulder. "Sir, you need to answer your phone."

With an arm he waved the man away, "Dun' care."

Sighing, the man picked up the phone and answered it. England listened with a deadpan expression and heard an obnoxious, familiar voice yelling through the phone. The bartender cringed away from it, and the Englishman scowled, "Hang up. Git needs teh lea'me 'lone."

Ignoring him, the man began speaking, and his interest faded; whatever they were talking about, he didn't give a damn. Sullenly, England wished to be home, tending to his garden and talking with the fairies. Maybe they would have a solution to his problem.

"Sir, you're friend's coming to pick you up."

Glowering at the bartender, he shouted, "Wha' friend! Tha' tosser's no friend'a mine!"

"Who's not your friend?"

England stilled, slowly turning around in his seat. The source of all his problems was standing there, arms crossed over his chest and face unsmiling. "Why're ya 'ere! Sod off, bast'rd!"

America took a step forward and grabbed hold of his wrist. "Let's go." He turned to the bartender, who handed him England's phone. "Sorry for the disturbance."

"No, it's all right," but the bartender was merely being polite.

Pocketing the phone, he set some bills down on the counter and hauled England off of his seat. His legs unsteady, he fell forward and was caught by an arm. He glared at the blond, who smiled and picked him up bridal style. A flurry of drunken protests left his mouth, and he pounded a fist weakly against America's chest, but he wouldn't let go.

"Have a good night!" he called out as he left the bar.

"Damn, Iggy, you sure know how to get drunk." He chuckled, and England glared at him furiously.

"None a' yer business, wanker."

America emitted a heavy sigh, eyes flitting from England to the street. "It is when I have to pick up after you."

Unable to retort, England grit his teeth and looked ahead to the bleary road, figures walking by and lights flashing. He was vaguely aware of being set down in a car, but then everything got too hazy to make out. Head resting against the cool windshield, he dozed off.

* * *

The unlocking of a door woke England up from his brief nap. He opened his eyes, trying to remember exactly what happened before he fell asleep and what trying to figure out what was going on right now. Currently, his head was resting against someone's back and he was being piggy-backed. But by who…? He lifted his head and recognized the back of America's head and the leather of his bomber jacket.

"Ugh…" England remembered being at the bar, and downing shot after shot of whiskey, and then America coming to pick him up. His mind was less addled than earlier, but he still couldn't fully gather his bearings.

"You awake?" America said, setting him down on the couch and turning to face him.

"I guess."

He could speak without slurring his words, so that was a good sign. He massaged his temples with his index fingers and tried look up at America. The blond was scrutinizing him, but for what, he didn't know. It was awkward having to be in the same room as him when the kiss in the forefront of his thoughts. America wasn't mentioning it, however, so maybe he was off the hook.

But he thought too soon. "So… why did you kiss me?"

Good question. Great, in fact, and England wanted an answer to that himself. He pursed his lips, trying to come up with an answer. "I…" he frowned, groaning in frustration and covering his face with his hands. "I don't know, okay? I just…"

"You just— what?" America pressed further, unwilling to let go of the subject.

"I just… wanted to." He spoke the words in a barely audible whisper, face heating up.

America leaned in closer. "What? Say that again, I didn't hear you."

_Really?! For fuck's sake…_ "I just wanted to, damn it! Now leave me alone!"

Silence. Then, "Iggy?"

"What now?" England snapped, hiding his face and refusing to look up at the blond.

"Uh…" he heard America sigh, "never mind, it's nothing." He paused, letting an awkward silence spread before speaking again, voice unreadable. "You can have the bed. I'll sleep out here."

Not in the mood for arguing, England nodded. "Fine."

When neither said anything more, America walked away and disappeared into another room while England took his hands from his face. This situation was too strange for him to comprehend. America didn't laugh at him, or say it's disgusting, or anything. But it didn't sound like he was happy either. On top of that, now America was avoiding him.

_Shit._

* * *

**I can't write drunken speech to save my life. This chapter is probably rushed, right? Well, I did rush to write it, so maybe that's why. I'll edit tomorrow... maybe.**

**Reviews much appreciated!**

**Now, for the last stretch... wish me luck!**

**Thank you for reading!**


	4. Fourth of July

**At long last, the final chapter is here. **

**Thank you to all those wonderful people who have accompanied me this far in this three-day scramble... I truly appreciate it, and I hope I don't disappoint in the end.**

**And thank you to all those who have read, reviewed, favorited, and follow!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.**

**Couple(s): America/England (and others that I'll keep as a surprise)**

**Warnings: Possible OOC-ness (and possibly other stuff, I don't know)**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Fourth of July morning, England woke up to the sound of a rock version of America's national anthem blasting through speakers. Apparently, America was already awake. And now he was awake as well. With one shitty as hell hangover that made him feel like someone was drilling through his skull. England pulled the covers up over his head, blocking out the light that threatened to make his hangover worse.

Trying to get back to sleep, he thought of the events of last night. The drinking, the getting home, and what he said. _I just wanted to._ Did he really say that… it was hard to believe. He wished it was just a stupid dream that he could forget, but he couldn't. To make matters all the more dreadful, that was probably the most honest he'd been to the prat in a long time. The very fact that he _was_ being honest was enough to make him want to beat himself over the head with a hammer.

"Good morning!" America burst into the room, cackling in delight. "Dude, wake up! It's my birthday!"

Head throbbing from the blond's shouting, he moaned and shouted back, "Won't you shut up!"

"Nah, don't want to." The covers were forcibly taken off of him, and England hurriedly shielded his eyes from the light. "Get up. I have painkillers for ya."

Expression set in a grimace, he slowly sat up and peered up at America. _Throb, throb, throb,_ went his skull. Eyes falling to the glass of water and two small pills in America's hand, he snatched them away and put both pills in his mouth before gulping them down with water. When the glass was empty, he handed it back to the blond, sheepishly mumbling, "Thank you."

"No problem! Now get dressed and come out!"

"Whatever…"

America left the room and shut the door, and England had to marvel at how much energy the younger nation had. He supposed it was normal, since it was his birthday after all. England sighed, changing clothes and showering before coming out into the living room. All around him were red, white, and blue decorations, along the walls and setting on the table. America was in the kitchen, dressed in a shirt with the American flag on it and a pair of normal jeans. He was munching away on what looked like a breakfast from McDonald's, hash browns and some sort of sandwich with a large Coke to wash it all down.

His head perked up from the meal when he noticed England watching him. "Iggy, I got you some breakfast, too!"

He handed him a bag. Peeking inside, England's nose was invaded by the smell that always surrounded fast food, greasy and nauseating. Nevertheless, he took out the sandwich, which consisted of sausage and cheese, and forced himself to eat it.

"Couldn't you turn down that music?" he felt like his eardrums were going to break. "It's making my head hurt."

"Sure," America complied and used a remote to lower the volume to a more bearable level. It helped slightly with his pounding headache, but not much. Unfortunately, the pills wouldn't kick in for a while still.

When both were done eating, they sat silently, America boring a hole through England's head with that stare of his. It was hard to tell what the blond was thinking at the moment. After their conversation last night, America had avoided him until they went to sleep. Today, he was talking to him again, but his constant staring was rather annoying. If he had something to say, he should just say it. Such silence was disconcerting when America was his companion; America and silence didn't go together, at all. He always found something to say, even when it was unnecessary.

Abruptly, the blond asked, "Is your fever gone?"

"Huh?"

England had forgotten about that, much to his surprise. But as he felt his face, he realized that his skin wasn't as warm as yesterday, almost normal. He wasn't feeling the need to cough, nor was his chest hurting. The pounding in his head he could obviously attribute to the hangover. His furrowed his brows in confusion. He wasn't ill anymore? But it was the Fourth of July, the very day that was the source of his illness in the first place. This didn't add up at all. How would it go away so soon? In previous years, he was bedridden for the entire week, even after the Fourth passed.

He nodded in bewilderment. "It seems so."

"Awesome!" America stood up, eyes alight with glee. "See, the hero's presence cures everything!" The cocky words, however, belied the genuine happiness that he could see in those sapphire irises.

Intent on changing subjects, England asked, "Who's coming over today?"

"Mm, well…" America began, "For a few hours, Japan and France are coming over to hang out. Then later, Mattie, Germany, Italy and his brother, Spain, Prussia, China, and Russia are gonna come over and we'll go out on the yacht for the fireworks show."

England raised a brow, "You rented a yacht?"

"You bet! Best seat for the fireworks show!" America grinned. "Iggy?"

"Yes?"

Rounding the table, America went over to England and pulled him into a hug. "Thank you for being here," he whispered softly.

The touch sent shivers down his spine, and he became deathly aware of the arms circling his waist and back. "S-sure." He stuttered out, refusing to blush from something as simple as a hug. Of course, he blushed anyways.

Quickly, so America wouldn't notice the tension in his body, he pushed the younger nation away, turning so his back was facing him. As he did so, he caught the teasing smile present on America's lips. This way going to be a long day…

* * *

America dragged England all around the city for Fourth of July events, eating contests, tours, and whatnot, until France and Japan showed up. The two were equally surprised to find England with America. It was no secret that he avoided the blond during this time of the year. Once France had entertained himself enough with teasing England, the four went back to America's house. When deciding what game to play, America and France decided on truth or dare, with Japan neutral in the decision and England dead set against it; such a childish game he didn't find amusing. America overruled his opposition, saying that because it was his birthday, they had to do what he wanted.

So here they were, sitting on the ground in the living room, a beer bottle set out in the middle of their circle. "Since I'm the hero, and it's my birthday, I get to first!" America exclaimed, spinning the bottle round, and when it stopped, it landed on France.

"Okay, Frenchie. Truth or dare?"

France smirked, "Dare, of course." England could already tell that the frog was hoping to get some sort of lewd dare.

After a moment's thought, America said, "Call up Russia and say that you had mind-blowing sex with Canada last week, then tell us how he reacts."

Confused, France raised a brow but nodded, taking out his phone. He scrolled through his contacts and then put the phone to his ear. "Bonjour, mon ami Russie." A pause. "Oh, no reason. I just wanted to let you know that last week, I had sex with Canada, and," he moaned, as if recalling the pleasure from the supposed sex, "mon Dieu, it was absolutely mind blowing. His flushed face as he panted out my name, begging me to pleasure him more, the cute moans he emitted as I thrust in and out of him, clinging to me so adorably…"

He trailed off, a smirk on his face, but then it slowly fell from his face and he paled. Taking the phone from his ear, he trembled. "He said that when he comes over he's going to enjoy looking at my expression as he slowly guts me and pounds in my face."

Japan murmured quietly, "That's a strange reaction."

"Hmm." America nodded, "I thought as much."

"What is it? Why did you dare me to do that!" France trembled, and even England felt sorry for him; it wasn't every day that you suddenly got a death threat from a country as terrifying as Russia.

"Well, I've been thinking about it ever since I went to visit Mattie and saw them," he paused, shuddering with a grimace on his face, "close and intimate with each other… and I think that Russia loves my bro."

England blinked at his conclusion. "Are you sure Russia is even capable of love?"

"That's what I thought!" America frowned, "But it's the only thing I can think of."

Nodding, Japan agreed. "There are strange occurrences in this world."

"So you used me as bait to confirm your suspicions? Do you wish me an early death?!" France cried.

America laughed and patted the Frenchman on the shoulder, "I don't think he'll seriously hurt you. Anyways, it's your turn now. Spin the bottle!"

Grudgingly, France did so. This time, it landed on Japan. "Truth or dare, mon ami?"

After a moment of pensive thought, the Japanese man chose, "Truth."

"Do you have someone you like, and if so, who?" the question was rather innocent coming from France.

England scoffed, "What are you, a kid? Now we're confessing who we like?"

France just smirked at him, "Would you prefer I asked about his sex life?"

"I'll answer the question." Japan interrupted, preventing the quarrel from elevating. Taking a deep breath in to calm himself, he confessed, "I love China-san."

A surprised silence came over the four. Then, it was broken by America's exclamation, "Eh, really? Who woulda thought that you had the hots for that old man!"

Japan's cheeked flushed a pale pink, and he looked away with embarrassment.

"That _is _quite surprising, I must say." England admitted.

"Do you want me to help you reel him in, Japan?" France offered, putting a friendly arm around Japan's shoulders.

Japan stiffened at the touch, and his blush deepened. "No thank you," he politely declined and reached over to spin the bottle, effectively taking their attention away from him.

The next two rounds, where the bottled landed on America and then back on Japan, were fairly temperate. Japan dared America to eat a tablespoon of chili powder, which ended with the blond running around for five minutes screaming "Hot! Hot! Hot!" and then he chugged down bottle after bottle of water. Then, America dared Japan to sing some Vocaloid song. Surprisingly, the shy nation was able to sing it well, and then the bottle was spinning again.

It pointed to England. "England-san, truth or dare?"

"Dare," he stated, his pride not allowing him to choose anything else.

England tensed as Japan opened his mouth to speak, wondering what sort of dare he'd be given. "I dare you to…" he paused, eyes flitting over to America, "sit still for one minute while America tries to get you to mean by any means possible. If you move, you have to be his slave for the rest of the day."

His eyes widened, and he looked over at America, who, while also surprised, had an unsettling grin on his lips. _Damn my pride._ Resentfully, he nodded. "All right."

"This'll be fun~," America snickered.

"Oh, shut it, America." He snapped.

France took out his phone, "Okay, I'll start the timer… now."

America crawled over to England, who sat motionless, eyes trained on America. The blond began by trying to tickle him on his sides, and England smothered the laughter threatening to come out and stubbornly refused to move. When that didn't work, took a sharpie from the coffee table and drew on his face, and France snorted while he watched.

"Thirty more seconds," he announced.

With a huff, America put down the sharpie and furrowed his brows in concentration. Then, his face lit up and without warning, he slipped one hand around to the nape of England's neck while the other cupped his cheek and leaned in to kiss him. The moment their lips touched, England found himself drowning in the feeling it created, sending shivers down his spine and flushing his cheeks with red.

If it weren't for the other two in the room, England would've responded. Instead, he found himself pushing away from America, who was looking at him with surprise. He wiped the traces of the touch from his mouth and looked away.

France and Japan looked on with a mixture of amusement and (on Japan's part) surprise. "You lost." France smirked, and England glared at the frog in annoyance.

"Go to hell, frog." He growled.

"America, you might want to cuff him to you," France suggested with a leer, "who knows when he'll try to bolt."

"Ya think?" America actually seemed to be debating the suggestion.

"What the fuck are you suggesting, you sick frog?" he yelled, his irritation getting the better of him.

America laughed, "Sounds like a good idea." He got up, "I'll be right back." Then, he disappeared into his bedroom.

England slapped his palm to his forehead. It was very difficult to control his urge to slaughter France at the moment. Japan looked at him with sympathy. "He won't make you do anything outrageous."

"Oh, I'm sure he will, just to see me suffer," he groaned in defeat.

Reemerging from the bedroom, America came back twirling a pair of handcuffs on a finger. Sitting down beside England, he snapped one of the cuffs to England's wrist and the other two his own. "You've got to be kidding me…" England glanced wearily at the blond, "tell me you at least know where the key is."

America patted his pocket, grinning. "Right here. Okay, now spin!"

Sighing, England reached over and spun the bottle, watching as it landed on America. "Truth or dare, America?"

Once again, America picked, "Dare."

England sighed, thinking out loud as he said, "Kiss the person you like the next time you're out in public surrounded by people…"

"That's pretty weak, Angleterre." France commented, which England responded to with a glare.

America nodded, a confident smile on his face. "Sure." Despite his smile, England could detect a hint of uncertainty in his expression, and he wondered if America was apprehensive about having to do the dare.

Before he could spin the bottle, the doorbell rang. America stood up to get it, forcing England to get up with him. When he opened the door, they were welcomed with the sight of the Italian brothers, Spain, Prussia, and Germany all at the door. "Hey guys!" America greeted cheerfully.

"Holy, amigo! ¡Feliz cumpleaños!" Spain said cheerfully. His eyes trailed down to their hands, and then he looked at the two of them curiously. "Uh, why are you and England cuffed together."

Before America could explain, England shook his head and said, "Don't ask."

"Kesesese~, you guys were playing truth or dare, weren't you?"

Looking over his shoulder to where France and Japan were getting up, Japan setting the bottle on the coffee table, he nodded. "…Yes."

"Are you going to let us in or not, bastard?" Romano demanded brazenly, arms crossed over his chest.

"Come in." America said, moving over to let the group of five inside. "We'll wait for the others to show up, and then we can head out to the yacht."

The nine conversed amongst themselves for the next ten minutes while waiting for the last three people to arrive. Italy was trying to cuddle with Germany while Romano was screeching at the two and trying to tear his brother away from the German. Prussia was raiding America's fridge for a beer, chatting with Japan about some manga or another. France was sitting up against the couch with Spain in his lap, the former presser feather-light kisses to the latter's neck while they murmured between themselves.

America and England were sitting amidst the chattering, neither one speaking to the other. Their wrists occasionally brushed, the chain connecting them clinking softly. It was hard to do much of anything, since America had idiotically cuffed their dominant hands together, his left to the blond's right.

"Iggy?" America suddenly addressed him.

"Yes?" he responded quietly.

With unusual hesitance, he asked, "Have you had fun today?"

Baffled by such a question coming from America, England raised a brow. If his expression weren't so genuine, England might've thought he was poking fun at him. "Aside from this," he held their wrists up, "yes, I've enjoyed today."

A relieved smile broke out on America's face. "Awesome."

The doorbell rang again, and this time it was a very odd trio: Russia, Canada, and China. Russia had his arms around both the others' shoulders, and while Canada didn't seem to mind the touch, China was very pale.

America smiled at his brother. "Hey Mattie." Gaze going to Russia, he nodded tensely, probably trying to keep from punching Russia. "Russia." The tension between them was palpable. He smiled again at China, "Hey."

"Привет." The Russian's smile was very dark, and it darkened further when his eyes roamed the room and landed on France.

"Hello, France." He greeted with a happy voice, but his eyes were anything but.

The Frenchman froze, eyes trailing to the door. He locked gazes with Russia and squeaked, paling considerably. Taking Spain off of his lap, he backed up and away from the menacing nation at the door.

Spain looked at France with concern, "Are you okay, France?"

"J-j-just fine, mon amour. Only suddenly very concerned for my well-being…" He laughed nervously, not taking his eyes from the Russian.

Russia let go of Canada and China, coming into the room and walking towards France. Meanwhile, the other nations looked on at the curious (and potentially dangerous) spectacle in silence.

"Russia, what's wrong?" Canada asked, following his apparent lover as he crossed the room.

France's face lit up with hope when he heard Canada speak. "Oh, Canada! Tell him that I haven't done anything with you!"

"What?" Canada cocked his head to the side. "Done anything?"

France spoke in rapid French, and when he finished speaking, Canada's face was beet red. Nonetheless, he tugged on Russia's sleeve, making the large nation turn to him. Chuckling, he pulled Russia down and pecked his lips. "Is this why you were being so quiet? Don't worry, France and I have no interest in each other whatsoever. Besides, he already has a lover." He gestured over to Spain.

Russia calmed down and smiled. "Okay. I won't kill him."

France let out a breath of relief and hurried over to Spain's side, tugging him far away from the bizarre couple.

"Okay…" America started, gathering the attention of the others. "Everyone's here, so let's go!"

* * *

When the group reached the yacht and were ready to board, they found before themselves a very bizarre sight. Painted on the vessel were large red, white, and blue letters spelling out "U.S. – Property of England" and below it in smaller letters, it read "Yes, all of him" in parentheses. Beside it was a picture of the Union Jack overtaking the America flag. America and England stood side by side, blankly staring up at the words with identical expressions. Then, they turned their heads to each other and simultaneously said.

"What the fuck?"

Around them, the other nations were staring at them, a few laughing, others confused. England felt his cheeks redden and it spread to his ears. The innuendo that inevitably formed from the words made it increasingly difficult to look America in the eye, when it'd already been hard in the first place. Images were brought to his head that he desperately tried to shut out, images that were inappropriate for him to be thinking of. Pushing America down onto the bed, crawling on top of him with a smirk, and then ravishi—

No! he protested in his mind, and immediately blocked out the images. Oh God, what was wrong with him?

"Who do you think did it?" America's voice snapped him out of his thoughts. "I mean, the only ones who knew that I'd be getting a yacht were the people here, but this prank is just too bizarre…"

"Have you pissed anyone off lately?" he asked.

America hummed, "Only Russia, and I guess Mattie too. But they're a bit more aggressive than this. This is something I'd expect from Prussia or someone else, but I don't think he did this…"

His headache was coming back. England sighed and tugged America along by the cuff. "Whatever. Let's just get on."

"All right. C'mon guys, we haven't got all day!"

The snickering ceased and the group boarded the yacht, and by the time it left the harbor, the sun was setting. There was still a while to go before the fireworks show started, so in the meantime, they ate the foods set out and danced and conversed.

"So Iggy," America said after Japan ended their conversation to go speak with China. England was leaning against the rail of the yacht, letting the breeze cool his skin, looking out at the other cruisers atop the water, also waiting to see the fireworks. "About that kiss yesterday…"

Of course he had to bring that up when they were cuffed together and he couldn't escape. Brilliant. "I thought we already discussed this…" England muttered, eyes watching the movements of the water.

"Well, yeah, but I was wondering…" he trailed off.

"Just spit it out."

He heard America take in a deep breath, and he asked, "Why did you want to kiss me?"

England exhaled through clenched teeth, feeling his exasperation grow. "Can't you just drop the subject?"

"But I want to know."

Snapping his head around to glare at the blond, he barked, "Why? What makes it so bloody important that you want to know?"

America's body tensed at his harsh tone. His aggravation seemed to be rubbing off on his younger counterpart, because he shouted back, "Because I…!"

Out of nowhere, France slung his arms around their shoulders. "What is this? A lover's quarrel?"

"No!" they yelled simultaneously.

France chuckled in amusement, "Is that so? You two could've fooled me. So much…" he smirked, "sexual tension in the air."

Spain joined into the conversation, coming to stand beside England. "It's not good to deny your feelings. It just keeps building up until you snap, and you either kiss them or kill them." He laughed goodheartedly. "England, you should know this very well."

"Oh, come off it, tosser!" England grumbled, not wanting to think back to such days.

"Eh? What do you mean?" America peered over at the Spaniard curiously, not understanding.

France continued, "Back in the day, this gentleman here," he smiled at England, "used to be quite the lascivious pirate. Many times, after getting intimate with a person, he'd kill them as well. Quite the deadly lover, wouldn't you say?"

"Frog, either you shut your mouth or I'll shut it for you." He threatened, with the intention to carry out said threat if need be. "There was no love in any of it, just sex."

Laughing his creepy laugh, the Frenchman continued, undeterred by his threat. "Maybe you're a sadist at heart, Angleterre. Unfortunately, I don't this kid," he glanced at America, whose cheeks were colored with a rosy tint, "has that sort of kink."

England's eye twitched, and his eyes narrowed dangerously. "I'll give you three seconds to fuck off before I mangle that shitty face of yours."

Finally, as if sensing that he would actually carry out his threat shortly, France backed off, holding his hands up in surrender. "All right, I'll leave you two be. Good luck, Amérique~." He hooked an arm around Spain's waist and the two left, chuckling.

"Sometimes…" England sighed, trying to regain control of his anger. Reminiscing over those days brought back a fair amount of unpleasant memories. He preferred to keep all of it behind him and not think about it.

America's face was still flushed when he asked, sounding uncomfortable, "Uh, Iggy… is what they said true? Did you really do that sort of stuff?"

Rubbing the back of his neck, he quietly answered, "…Yes, I did," he continued, feeling the awkwardness surrounding them, "I was a bit… wild, back then. Most of them were from enemy ships, so I thought 'If they're going to die anyways, why not get some pleasure out of it?'" England snorted derisively, "Such a messed up way of thinking. It's in the past, though."

"Is that so…"

An awkward silence descended upon the two, and because they were cuffed together, they couldn't escape it. So they were forced to keep in each other's company, not knowing what to say or how to say it. Perhaps America would be disgusted with him now. England wouldn't be surprised if that were the case; the younger nation's hero mentality didn't tolerate such actions. The thought that America hated him made his chest ache, and he looked down at it with an awestricken expression.

So that's what this emotion that'd been tormenting him throughout the past few days was. Love. Such a simple word, yet it held so much meaning…

"England…" America whispered, voice filled with emotions that he couldn't decipher.

He looked up at the blond, and when he did, America leaned in a kissed him. This time, the kiss was more than just lips to lips. America moved his lips against his, then softly nipped at his lower lip, effectively coaxing out a response from England. His eyes fluttered close, and he rested a hand on the blond's shoulder, moving closer to deepen the kiss. After another nip to his top lip, America probed his lips open with his tongue, and shivers went down England's spine at the touch.

If the first two kisses had been nice, this one was heavenly. The way their mouths melded together, how their fingers interlaced together and through it sent heat coursing through entire his body… How could a mere kiss feel so absolutely wonderful? America's free hand ghosted up from his arm to hold his head and fingers laced through his hair. A groan sounded in the back of his throat, and he leaned back against the rail for support as his knees threatened to give out.

Slowly, they parted, their breath coming in soft pants. England opened his eyes and gazed into the sapphire irises that so easily pulled him in. So many questions whirled around in his mind, and he was about to give voice to them when he heard the other nations start to give catcalls. The moment shattered, they flinched away from each other, hands disconnected, and faces equally red. Many of the nations were giving them knowing smirks (Japan, for one, was awkwardly averting his eyes from the couple).

England scowled at them and was about to snap at them when a boom! sounded from behind them and the sky was illuminated as the first firework went off. They turned to face it, America's lips turning up into a grin. He watched with eager enthusiasm as the fireworks exploded in the air, and England watched with him, every so often glancing at America.

He lost track of time from the first firework to the finally, but when it was finished, a large cloud of smoke sat in the air and the yacht was heading back to the harbor. America and England said their farewells to the other nations as one after another, they departed in individual taxis. The pair got in a taxi of their own once they saw the other nations off and soon arrived back at America's house. They entered the house, sitting down on the couch once in.

"Why did you kiss me?" England abruptly asked before he could stop himself.

America looked at him, surprised, but grinned as he said, "You dared me to."

"Eh? But I—" realization dawned on him, and he regarded America with bewildered, wide eyes, "you mean…"

"Yup!" he laughed at the shock in England's expression, then settled down and intertwined their fingers again. Voice serious, he confessed, "I love you, Iggy."

"You…" he started, "…damn git!" England scowled at him, "You should've said so to begin with!"

America's eyes lit up with hope. "Are you saying…?"

"Yes!" England averted his eyes to the ground momentarily, and then forced his gaze back on the blond. "I love you too."

Without warning, he was encompassed into a hug, America's strength crushing England against him and cutting off his ability to breathe. "Oi!" he gasped, slapping at America's back.

America loosened his hold, and gradually, England wrapped his arms around the blond, returning the embrace. "So, is this why you wanted to kiss me?" America chuckled, murmuring against his neck.

England rolled his eyes, the embarrassment coming back. "Oh, shut up."

The blond pulled back, a smirk on his lips as he said, "Make me."

England did just that. He pulled him down into a kiss and nipped at those smirking lips. The contact didn't last long, since England pulled back just seconds after he kissed him. Holding up their linked wrists, he said, "Mind unlocking these now?"

"Uh…" America rubbed his neck sheepishly, admitting, "Actually, I lost it."

"What?!" he cried in disbelief, "You said the key was in your pocket."

_"I __thought_ it was, but it's not anymore…"

England hissed out a breath through his teeth, massaging his temples with one hand. Damn it. He was in for a long night…

* * *

**Barely made it! Oh god, terror in this chapter. Terrible "prank" (god awful, really), awkward kissing scenes, rushed ending. Not to mention an unnecessary truth or dare game. Oh well, I got it up before midnight! I shall edit when I find the energy... **

**Thank you to again to all you lovelies who have accompanied me through this hectic three-day scramble. You're all wonderful. ^^**

**Reviews are love!**

**...Is it bad that I'd just love to have every person who keeps illegally shooting off fireworks in their backyard arrested? I'm a downer, aren't I... *sigh***

**Thank you for reading!**

**Now, excuse me while I go pass out.**


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